


You're All I Think Of (In a Myriad Of Awful Ways)

by snazzypasta



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Diary/Journal, I don't know why I wrote this?, Veronica is writing this and the rest are only mentioned so, diary entries, god bless my soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 13:31:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10877787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snazzypasta/pseuds/snazzypasta
Summary: Maybe Veronica Sawyer's last diary entry.It hurts her more than it should.





	You're All I Think Of (In a Myriad Of Awful Ways)

Dear Diary,

I think I may be going insane.  
It's been a month since what happened. (Burnt ash, sparks, and bloody fingers all fit the occasion.) I stood there. Watching. I told him to stop. What I don't know is why I didn't do anything. I don't know if I should've done anything.

Sometimes I'll spot a 7-Eleven and think about him. (Blue raspberry and cherry and cigarettes.) The thought sickens me. The last time I had a slushy-the first time after his death-was about a week ago. I threw it back up. (Blue raspberry, why did I get blue raspberry?) It gave me a faint sense of déjà vu.

 

I find the color red appalling. It looks like everything wrong. (Cherry slushies, blood, TNT, red croquet mallets, lots and lots of red--) I don't have any in my wardrobe. I could get a panic attack from looking at red clothes.

I used to like taking walks in the woods but now all I see is two lifeless corpses and him standing there with the gun. (Our love is God, we're immortal.) I want to believe him. I want to run away. I want to cry. I want to laugh. I want to do everything I failed to do.

Everything I failed to be.

Maybe the reason I don't like her is because she's more like me than I think she is. (She likes the color red, though. Sometimes I still think I hear her, telling me I've accomplished it all and that I can die peacefully knowing I'll end up in hell anyways.)

 

I think about the other two. We don't talk anymore. They're both alive. Not much has changed with them.

My best friend doesn't talk to me anymore, either. Partly my fault. I ignored her for so long. I still do ignore her. (I want to forget anything from those times, if I forget her he'll disappear too.)

 

Okay, okay, I know I'm lying to myself. I miss him. I miss him so much and if I could trade my life for his I'd do it in a goddamn instant (TNT and burning hot coals but they're actually in my stomach and maybe it would've been better if we ever left the 7-Eleven and I held his hand and kept myself in half of his trench coat and pressed my face to his chest and inhaled the cigarette smoke and prayed that nothing would change) but I didn't. I let him die.

I think he lied to me when he said I'm not beyond repair.

I lied to myself, believing it.

I lie to myself every day when I say he's still here. I imagine his voice in my head. ("Our love is God. Let's go get a slushie--our love is God our love is God--"))

I use those same words and his same brand of cigarettes and his favorite flavor of slushie just to torture myself. The thought of it is enough to make me nearly pass out and feel like I'm shattering into a million pieces. (Like when she fell through the glass coffee table)

If you're reading this I want you to stop torturing me. I don't love you anymore. I don't want to love you. Leave me alone. I don't want to feel this way why do I feel this way???? All I can see is your eyes and I still feel your hand on my cheek and I just want to make it stop I want to make YOU stop.

 

Electric blue vomit is my new comfort.  
You broke me, Jason. Congratulations.

V. Sawyer


End file.
